


En avant

by Rapis_Razuri



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, Estranged Sibling Relationship, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by the Nutcracker, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to The Nutcracker, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28919544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rapis_Razuri/pseuds/Rapis_Razuri
Summary: Dance, by its very nature, is a very expressive form of art and yet, there is so much pressure on women to stand strong and not to be seen as weak in order to be taken seriously. How does one cope with these two contradictory expectations?Five years after the death of her father, disillusioned ballerina Byleth returns to her childhood ballet academy as a teacher where she meets Dimitri, former concert pianist from Faerghus carrying the burden of his own past, and together, they learn how to move forward.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Edelgard von Hresvelg, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth & Rhea
Comments: 23
Kudos: 74
Collections: The Three Houses AU Bang





	En avant

These halls have not changed at all.

From the mirrored wall facing the arched windows that lined the opposite, the barres, fixed and portable alike, to even the marley floors… it is all exactly as she remembers. Even the chiffon curtains are the same. Or they are, at least, still the same color.

If the current director has been trying to make the Academy seem timeless in an ever-changing world, she has certainly succeeded.

Taking a deep breath, Byleth steps inside, feeling as though she is crossing some kind of threshold more significant than that of a simple doorway. She hopes, desperately hopes, that the excitement and wonder that once filled her may finally return—that she will finally _wake up._

It does not.

She is not a child anymore after all.

Drifting a stray hand over the upright piano—another fixture she recognized from her past—she drops her bag in a corner next to the door. She has at least half an hour before students and parents are expected to arrive for their first class, and she knows this studio won’t be in use until then. Director Rhea had told her herself.

Putting on her pointe shoes and warming up is not a whimsy, but when she shuffles her playlist instead of choosing a song herself, she is greeted with the opening notes of _Entrée d'Aurore,_ the solo before the more famous Rose Adagio _._ It is her fault for not removing the score of the ballet from her playlists, but for five years, Princess Aurora has been haunting her every step like an old forgotten friend.

It is a short sequence, barely two minutes long, but it is a terribly empty feeling, knowing the choreography, knowing she could perform the choreography for a role that will never be hers.

She holds the ending position, just long enough for her to notice the door opening again.

“Ah, pardon me, but would this happen to be Studio B?”

Byleth tilts her head curiously to the side. The tall blond man who had spoken did not appear to be a danseur. He looks far too self-conscious about being where he is to be one. She would expect that from a teenage boy going through adolescence, but a grown man would have developed the confidence to stay in the industry by now.

“This is Studio B,” she confirms.

There is a look of relief on his face as he explains, “I’m the accompanist for the class starting at four. I thought of arriving early so I could familiarize myself with the piano here.”

“I teach that class,” Byleth says with a nod. “Like you, I decided to come early since it is the first day.”

“ _You_ are teaching the class?”

The incredulous tone of his voice would’ve been insulting if it weren’t completely understandable. She still feels the need to weedle him a little for it though. “Were you expecting a wrinkled old hag instead?”

“I…” The way he blushes is strangely adorable. “I apologize. Since you were… Ahem. Since you were…” He makes a vague gesture with his free hand. “I had assumed you were one of the company’s dancers.”

Byleth almost smiles. “That was a joke. Don’t worry about it,” she says. “And I _am_ rather young by ballet teacher standards so it’s easy enough of a mistake to make.” At twenty-six, most women would still be dancing, making the most of their physical prime. Byleth is fairly certain she is the only—maybe even the first—instructor at the Academy to not have an illustrious career before becoming a teacher.

Since it is on her for taking offense—even jokingly—at such a small misunderstanding, she holds out her hand. “Byleth Eisner,” she says. “I look forward to working with you.”

.

His name is Dimitri Blaiddyd, and he used to be a concert pianist in Faerghus.

“What brings you to Garreg Mach?” she asks curiously.

“Unfinished personal business.”

He averts his eyes when he says this. Byleth is not _completely_ oblivious to social cues, so she doesn’t press and steers the conversation to safer topics. “Do you have any experience as an accompanist?”

“I’m afraid not,” he says modestly, “I have known some success in Fhirdiad, but I realize I still have much to learn. All I can do is ask for your patience.”

That makes two of them. “Only if I have yours,” she replies. “I just earned my teaching certification myself. This is the first time I’m going to be teaching by my lonesome.”

“Is that so?” He smiles. “I guess we’ll be figuring things out together.”

She smiles back. “I guess we are.”

There is a comically awkward pause. Byleth feels her smile fall. She’s been so withdrawn in the last five years, she’s not quite certain in her ability to form bonds with people anymore.

But then Dimitri quickly clears his throat, blushing for some strange reason, and says, “Since we still have time, I was wondering if you had any preferences for the kind of music you would like me to play…”

.

He’s known more than _a little_ success in Fhirdiad. His name pops up everywhere when she types in “faerghus pianists” in her search bar, winning competitions left and right since grade school, appearing on nearly every list of upcoming young pianists in Fódlan the past six years as the music community looks on with bated breath, eager to see how far he will go.

So… what is he doing _here?_

Not that there are no opportunities for himself in Garreg Mach, but it seems odd to her, that he would suddenly decide to leave a place where he already had something of a reputation to become an accompanist at a ballet school instead.

But then… how is that any different from what she is doing?

 _Enough is enough._ Byleth closes the window and deletes the past hour from her browsing history. Dimitri is not some distant star she knows by being one of the many faces in the audience. He is her co-worker, a fellow staff member of Garreg Mach Ballet Academy, someone she is going to see almost every day. His past is none of her business.

She also would not want him to pry into her own either, so it is basic decency to extend the same courtesy to him in return, right? It has only been one day, but working with him is nice. She is not going to risk that solely to sate her curiosity.

.

_There is a recurring dream she’s had since the death of her father. She is on stage in full costume. She cannot see the audience watching her from the darkness, but every seat is full. She knows that much._

_The music that plays, the routine she dances changes with every iteration, but some smaller details—the stage where she stands, the audience she cannot see, and the fact that it is always,_ always _a pas de deux—are constant._

_She dances, over and over for as long as her dream demands. There is no soul in the role she is meant to bring to life. She dances like a puppet on a marionette’s strings. This kind of meaningless performance is slowly choking what passion is left within her, strangling her in a way she cannot fully understand._

_These dreams always end the same way. Her partner takes her hand in his own, but when she by all means should be able to see who he is, he is not there. Alone and without someone to support her, to_ catch _her, she falls._

.

As the first month passes, something that is obvious from the start only becomes even moreso: _Teaching_ is not the same as _dancing_ , going from taking directions to making the decisions, even if it is only for small classes of young students. It is a new challenge, but she has always been the adaptable sort.

By day, she is neck deep in lesson plans and paperwork and all the other things she has to do to make her life outside the studio run smoothly. In the afternoon when the school day is over, she teaches ballet to children aged eight to twelve, divided by experience and ability. It pays surprisingly well for her hours and experience, covering her monthly expenses with money to spare. Byleth’s only real extravagance are pointe shoes anyway, and even those she doesn’t need to replace as often as she used to.

She enjoys it, really. The enthusiasm of her students—and lucky for her, they _are_ enthusiastic—is contagious. They remind her of who she used to be, and so she hopes that whether they become professionals someday or if they end up becoming hobbyists with a passing fancy, she will be able to teach them something they can carry with them for the rest of their lives.

Director Rhea sometimes comes to watch her teach. She takes personal interest in the growth and education of the next generation of dancers, but her observation of Byleth’s class seems to be fueled by something else.

Her first appearance, quietly entering a quarter of an hour into the lesson and taking a spot next to where the students have piled their jackets and bags, had caused quite a stir.

The students eventually grow used to her presence once Byleth reminds them to dance as though no one is watching, but she doesn’t. Rhea’s gaze is always the most intense when she tells the class to watch as she demonstrates the steps she is teaching.

Byleth is no fool. She knows full well she did not wholly earn her position on her merit alone. It is just a matter of when or if one of them will finally tire of this dance of avoidance and address the matter for what it is.

In the meantime, her students don’t notice how often she appears. Any individual student is only present once a week. Dimitri, who shows up everyday as diligently as she does, does, in fact, take note.

“Director Rhea seems to have taken an interest in you.”

Byleth shrugs on her jacket before replying. “She always has.” No doubt he’s curious. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have said anything. “Rhea and my mother were old friends. They both started out in Garreg Mach Ballet and stuck together throughout their careers until my mother decided to retire when I was born.”

“Your mother was a dancer?”

“She was. She died when I was little.”

The revelation clearly hits him hard. “It was a long time ago,” Byleth explains. The topic of absent parents is always an awkward one, she learned the hard way. “I’ve come to terms with it. She inspired me to become a ballerina myself. I wanted to be just like her.”

“But you’re teaching now,” he says, “Even though you still clearly harbor a love for it, always dancing away, when no one is watching.”

His observation surprises her. That and the knowledge that he’s been watching her closely enough to notice. No one ever asked her things like that after her father died. She didn’t really have anyone around _to_ ask things of that nature.

“Childhood dreams can only take me so far in a world like this,” she points out, much more bitterly than intended. “Odds are, only a few of the kids I teach will go on to become professionals. I’m sure you understand. How many people take piano lessons as children only to quit when they get older?”

“That much is true.”

Byleth sighs. “‘If you can’t do, teach,’ right?” she quotes, “Erm, not that there’s anything wrong about being a teacher to begin with.”

Dimitri chuckles. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re a great teacher.”

The compliment is unexpected, but not unwelcome. “Really?”

“Of course,” he says as he holds his chin in thought. “Normally, you are so… stoic. It's hard to get a read on your emotions, but when you’re instructing your students, it’s like you’re a different person. I can see how much you care about them.”

Hearing that makes her happy. Ballet culture is one that is so deeply steeped in tradition and resistant to change. Byleth is the only instructor at the Academy to have not had an illustrious stage career before becoming a teacher. The quality of her teaching will be put under great scrutiny during the performance of her students at the showcase at the end of the school year. She knows she has so much to prove.

It is validating to hear that she is doing well after all. Dimitri may not be a dancer himself, but he has borne witness to her methods personally. She trusts his judgment.

The realization is only mildly surprising.

Byleth has never been the kind to make strong, lasting friendships to begin with, and since her father died, it often feels as though she has forgotten how.

But, she supposes it’s not too late to try again. “Would you like to grab a bite to eat?”

He does not immediately give an answer. She wonders if she said something wrong. Surly an invitation to get food isn’t too… forward? But then he smiles and accepts and the thought quickly leaves her mind.

“I’m still rather unfamiliar with the area, so I don’t know which restaurants are good,” he says. “Let's go to one that you like.”

.

There is a cafe located at the corner of the street. It quickly becomes a regular stop in her daily routine. For one, it is a mere five-minute walk from the studio, and the bus stop is right outside. For another, the owners of said cafe seem to know they are the go-to coffee shop for Garreg Mach Ballet’s staff and dancers alike, and thus stocks a rather impressive variety of foods preferred by ballerinas.

Thus, it becomes her preferred destination when she is in the mood for a change of scenery.

The first time she runs into Dimitri there, all the other tables are occupied and she is at a loss as to where to sit. She spots him in the corner, with his laptop open and a pair of headphones over his ears, staring intensely at the screen before him.

Breaking his concentration is not something she wants to do, but after weighing her options, she decides it also wouldn’t hurt to ask.

She catches his attention with a wave. “Would you mind if I…”

He quickly makes the space for her with an easy smile before putting his headphones back on and returning to his work. She leaves her things there as she returns to the front counter to order her drink.

He’s not a bad person to share a table with, all things considered, but she finds herself getting easily distracted by the rhythmic tapping of his finger on the table surface. It takes a while for her to recognize it as _The Waltz of the Snowflakes_ , one of her favorite pieces from _The Nutcracker_.

Christmas is still months away, but for once, thoughts of falling snow, soft singing, and evergreen trees do not make her want to leave and slam the door behind her.

.

“Have you thought about auditioning for a role in our production of _The Nutcracker?_ ”

 _And there it is._ Rhea has since respectfully avoided discussion of Byleth’s own career so far, but clearly, she has finally reached her limit.

“I’ve… thought about it.” Rhea is free to interpret that however she wants.

“If I remember correctly, you danced the part of Clara in Act I when you were a student here.”

“I did.” _The Nutcracker_ is one of those ballets that just about every company in the world has produced at least once in its lifetime and every other one of those makes it a yearly tradition at Christmas time. Garreg Mach’s version is unique in a few ways, the first of which is the fact that first and foremost, Garreg Mach Ballet is a _school_ , so many roles are choreographed for their students, including those who are young and inexperienced, with the intent to provide them with the learning opportunity that comes with the chance to dance alongside professionals.

The other is that the remainder of the cast is made up of professionals from other companies—or in some cases, professionals unaffiliated with any company—chosen with a call for open auditions.

It is quite clear what Rhea is trying to hint at.

“I would… prefer to focus on being a teacher for now.” Byleth says diplomatically. “My students deserve me at my best when I’m still inexperienced.”

The director hides her disappointment well, but not well enough. “Of course. No one can fault you for your dedication to them.”

_You can._

It is always difficult, speaking to this woman. Byleth’s heart is like an eagle and lion, constantly at war with each other, one side saying _I am not my mother,_ and the other, _tell me about my mother._ What was Sitri Eisner like when she was backstage before a show? Did she pick at the sequins in her costume as Byleth used to when she was nervous? Play with her hair?

As easy as it is to resent Rhea for treating her like she is some kind of replacement for her mother, Byleth finds it difficult to maintain her ill-will. Sometimes a ballerina can find herself living in a world apart. Without friends or family, a life like that… can be terribly lonely. Byleth knows that all too well.

.

She may no longer be dancing, but Byleth still lives and breathes ballet. Her very identity is defined by it, subsumed by it, so it is always a shock to remember it is not the case for everyone she knows.

The first week of October, she steps back into the cafe after using the restroom and sees Dimitri finishing his order at the counter. She is about to call out to him when a young woman with silver-white hair and wearing a black and red jacket walks up to his side. A few words are exchanged, and then she takes one of the paper cups Byleth just notices he is holding. Never once turning so that she enters their field of view, the two leave the cafe together.

A perfectly innocuous scene and yet, it feels like a slap in the face.

Worst of all, she doesn’t even know _why._

.

Rehearsals for _The Nutcracker_ begin in earnest in mid-October for a few hours every week.

Flayn, one of Byleth’s students in her Thursday class, has been cast as Clara, so as Flayn’s instructor, it falls on her to teach her the choreography step-by-step. The daughter of Garrg Mach Ballet’s assistant director is an eager student, cheerful and friendly and always chatting away with her classmates in their downtime. She earned her role in an open audition fair and square, squealing in joy when the cast list was revealed. Byleth doesn’t want to let her down.

She is not the only one. Many of Byleth's students have chosen to participate, even a few she had anticipated to be unlikely to be interested. They are all disciplined and hardworking, and it is her pleasure to work with them in preparation for what is likely to be their first major performance on stage.

Her students’ rehearsals end at four in the afternoon on Saturday. It is still early enough in the schedule that they are not required to stay longer to practice with the older dancers for entire scenes. Stretching her sore muscles until she hears a bone crack, Byleth makes her way to the stairs that access the balcony overlooking Studio A where Princess Clara and the Nutcracker, freshly arrived from Adrestia and Leicester respectively, are currently rehearsing. Their first scene in the end of Act I if the faint sound of _The Waltz of the Snowflakes_ is any indication.

This is her chance to take her first look at those who will be dancing the ballet’s most prestigious roles this year. She is rather curious. It is hard not to be.

But the person she notices first, on the other hand, is actually their accompanist.

“Stop,” the terse voice of the artistic director breaks through Dimitri’s playing. He stops almost immediately. As do the dancers on the floor.

Byleth turns back to the dancers waiting to hear Shamir’s instructions.

“Your dancing is good, but I don’t feel the characters in you. Edelgard… you’re a little stiff. Try to loosen up a little.”

“Yes, please loosen up a little, Princess,” Nutcracker pipes in. He is not a Fodlan native, the darker tone of his skin gives that away. “For the last time, I’m not going to drop you, okay?”

“As for _you_ , Claude… Try to take this a little more seriously. Please.”

They go through the scene again, two more times. Both are skilled, clearly, but Byleth notes how that is not necessarily the problem. While Edelgard’s dance is perfect and meticulous down to the last movement when dancing solo, there is a certain _reluctance_ in her demeanor when it comes to relying on her partner to lift or support her. Combined with the whimsical, careless quality in the way Claude moves, it results in the two being slightly out of sync with each other in every take.

Byleth resists the urge to wince. Correcting steps is easy, but the trust and teamwork that is the backbone of any pas de deux is not something that can be achieved simply because someone, especially if that someone is a third party, wills it so.

There is no way this little complication could have been anticipated during the casting process. She hopes they will be able to work it out in time for the performance.

“Alright,” Sharmir sighs, sounding irritated. “Blaiddyd, start from…” Byleth wonders if the artistic director ever considered a career in singing. “Got that?” Dimitri plays the first few notes of the sequence she vocalized. “Good. Now, Hresvelg, Riegan, get into position. On three: one… two…”

They keep practicing, over and over, Shamir directing them from the sidelines all the while. By the time the hour is up, Edelgard and Claude are able to finish the dance from beginning to end without pause and Shamir, for the most part, seems to be satisfied with their progress for the day.

“You two will be rehearsing this with the Snowflakes next week,” she says. “Keep practicing on your own in the meantime and I’ll see you next week.”

Dimitri picks up his sheet music as the dancers wrap up for the day before he rises from the bench, doing a double take when he spots Byleth watching from above. He raises his hand to wave, a small smile on his lips.

After a pause, Byleth waves back.

She hurries back down the stairs, hoping to exchange a few words with him before he inevitably departs with Edelgard. “You didn’t tell me you would be here today,” she says, “I would have stopped by earlier to say hello.”

“I wasn’t expecting to be here today either,” he admits. “Holst had a bad case of food poisoning so he asked me to fill in for him today.”

“That… sounds _really_ bad.”

Dimitri shrugs nonchalantly, even as the corner of his lip curls up into an amused smirk, before changing the topic. “Is everything alright, Byleth? You’ve been rather distant lately.”

The observation surprises her. “Have I?”

“Have I done something to upset you?”

The damned memory of him and Edelgard in that cafe together wouldn’t leave her alone. “No… I… I’ve just been occupied with _Nutcracker_. That’s all.”

He sighs in relief. “That is good to hear.”

Byleth smiles uncertainly. Dimitri is kind and thoughtful and not a bad-looking man. _Of course_ he has a girlfriend. “How was rehearsal?” she asks, “Shamir sounded kinda frustrated back there. That doesn’t happen often.”

“Clashing personalities, I wager,” Dimitri replies wearly. “If you thought Shamir was frustrated by the Snowflake Waltz, you should’ve seen her while they were rehearsing the grand pas de deux—”

A soft, but pointed clearing of a throat. “If you _must_ gossip about my dancing, Dimitri, I would prefer it if you did it somewhere where I can’t overhear you.”

Is this what it feels to be on the receiving end of a _death glare_? The two times she had seen the Adrestian ballerina, once at the cafe and again just now from Studio A’s balcony, had been from a distance and now that she is face-to-face with her, Byleth couldn’t help, but be a little intimidated by her very presence. Everything about the woman’s elegant, self-confident poise is impossible to ignore. It is understandable why she is cast as Princess Clara.

“Edelgard.” The way Dimitri acknowledges her catches Byleth off guard by how oddly formal he sounds. “I meant no offense. I was only…” He trails off and, apparently deciding there is no way to talk his way out of that one, he clears his throat before powering on, “Edelgard, this is Byleth. She teaches the Junior Division classes. Byleth, this is Edelgard von Hresvelg, principal dancer of Imperial Adrestia Ballet and my stepsister.”

Stepsister.

_Stepsister._

“Stepsister?”

The two give her questioning looks, his confused and hers suspicious, and Byleth wishes the ground can just swallow her up and save her from her embarrassment.

“In name only, I’m afraid,” Edelgard elaborates after a beat. “We really only met a few times in our lives, but Dimitri was kind enough to let me stay with him while I am performing with Garreg Mach.” She raises her hand to chest level. “So _you_ are Byleth. Dimitri tells me you are quite the teacher.”

“Edelgard!”

His embarrassment drowns out her own. “You‘ve been talking about me?” Byleth asks him seriously, even as she tries to hold back a smile. “What else have you been saying about me when I’m not around?”

Dimitri looks to Edelgard. When she says nothing to help, he promptly decides there is no way for him to win and holds up his hands in surrender.

Edelgard smiles, just a little, before continuing to speak to Byleth. “One of your students is young Clara, am I right?”

“Her name is Flayn,” Byleth replies automatically and adds, knowing the two of them won’t even be on stage together except when taking their final bows, “It's her first time in the role. Please be kind to her.”

“Of course. It is my duty to set an example of excellence.”

Actually… It _is_ rather regrettable that she and Flayn won’t be on stage at the same time. A funny thought, trying to imagine how this formal, serious and, yes, slightly arrogant woman would fare against her protégée’s boundless enthusiasm for fish.

The arrival of Edelgard’s _current_ source of vexation prevents her from sniggering out loud, thankfully. Claude lacks his co-star’s domineering presence, but the ease with which he slides himself into the conversation as though it is the most natural thing in the world is proof enough of the charisma behind his easygoing demeanor. “Hey there. Is this a post-rehearsal meeting? I’m afraid I misplaced my invitation.”

Edelgard rolls her eyes. “That’s because you weren’t given one.” She then briskly says to Dimitri, “I need some fresh air. I’ll meet you at the bus stop,” before walking away without so much as a look back.

“Ouch…” Claude mutters. “A bit of an ice queen, isn’t she?”

“I apologize on her behalf,” Dimitri says to Claude, “For better or for worse, she’s always had rather high standards for dance partners. Please don’t take it personally.”

“You sound like you know from firsthand experience,” the danseur replies, amused, “Well, some people in this field take themselves way too seriously. It’s to be expected, so don’t worry about it.” He winks. “See you next week, Your Pianoness. You too, Teach.”

Byleth tilts her head to the side. _Teach?_

Dimitri shakes his head. “I shouldn’t keep Edelgard waiting,” he says, “She must be exhausted after rehearsing all day even though she’ll never admit it. I’ll see you again on Monday.”

She smiles. “See you Monday.”

He turns back to wave at her after stepping out the door. Byleth can’t help but feel this year’s production of _The Nutcracker_ will be an interesting one indeed.

.

She’d almost forgotten what it is like backstage on opening nights. The Saint Seiros Theatre sported enough dressing rooms that all two-hundred plus dancers in the productions had one to share with their peers. Sans Edelgard and Claude. They have their own.

There is only half an hour left before the curtains are to rise. Byleth had spent the last hour helping Mercedes with some last minute costume fixings, but now, it is like all the energy her students had brought with them to rehearsal in the morning has turned into a dreadful sort of nervous anticipation during the time in between. It likely doesn’t help that they are all trying not to fidget too much, lest they ruin their hair and costumes and makeup. Byleth tries not to flaunt her stuffy, but also _far_ more comfortable ensemble of high heels and floor-length dress as she sits with them to wait.

The first performance of the season is always going to be the worst in this regard. Hopefully the next few nights will be better for them as far as all the waiting goes.

“Were you this nervous before your first performance too, Miss Eisner?” Flayn has more reason than any of them to be nervous. Her first solo role. It’s a big step, pardon the pun.

Byleth considers her answer. _The Nutcracker_ was her first production and her last, but they don’t need to hear that. “I was,” she says. “It’s normal to feel that way. I don’t think there’s anyone who isn’t nervous.” She smiles and says, “Remember, you’ve all been practicing and working very hard. Do your best and have fun. I believe in you.”

Flayn grins widely as she asks, “ _Merde_?”

 _The parents aren’t going to like that,_ Byleth had realized too late when she explained what that word actually meant to a room of curious preteens, but she cannot deny how it dispenses the tension more effectively than any pep talk as the room breaks out into laughter as they tell each other _merde._

She’s made her choice to support them from backstage, but she does regret she won’t be in the audience when they go out to perform.

Thankfully, she knows someone who’s been watching their progress almost as closely as she had for the past four months will be.

.

Opening nights are magic. The sublime knowledge of how hours and hours of rehearsal have all been leading to this moment. By the time closing night rolls around, most of the magic has worn off and the general sentiment among the ballerinas, from the corps to the soloists, is that they are ready to move on despite the happy, satisfied smiles she sees on every face. Closing nights are bittersweet. The sense of accomplishment contrasted with the knowledge that the show has ended.

Byleth meets her students backstage one last time before they scurry off to enjoy the rest of their winter break with their families. She had spoken to them one last time backstage, handing them each a single-flower bouquet with a personalized, hand-written note as she bid them a good night and Merry Christmas.

One by one, she watches them all leave. Her students, dancers, technicians… It almost seems everyone is leaving with someone. Everyone except for her.

She looks out into the plaza outside the theatre. It had been lightly snowing all week, but tonight the fall is heavier, the majority of it happening during the performance. Even now, the snow is gently falling all around. If this goes on, dreams of a white Christmas would be granted after all.

But snow or no snow, it is always the most difficult this time of year for her. She is accustomed to spending the holidays alone, but sometimes…

“Byleth.”

She blinks. Only now does she realize that her face is wet. Lightly touching her cheek, she turns to where she had heard the voice calling out to her.

Not wanting Dimitri to see she had been crying, Byleth wipes her tears dry and puts on a brave face as he joins her before the front steps. “Where’s Edelgard?”

“Closing night party,” he replies, tugging at the collar of his shirt. He is dressed formally in a crisp three-piece suit with a blue tie, a far lighter ensemble than her heavy coat and yet, he doesn’t seem to be bothered by the cold at all.

“She didn’t invite you?”

Dimitri gazes up towards the theatre. Even under the bright lights of the front entrance before them and the Christmas lights decorating the trees behind them, she can see the darkness lurking beneath those pale blue eyes. She wonders what he is thinking about.

“She did. I was the one who chose not to go. Festivities don’t suit me, so I’m sure I would just be out of place there.”

“I’m the same way.” She smiles to herself as the wind briefly picks up, catching them in a tiny snowflake waltz of their own.

“Is everything alright?” Dimitri asks softly. “I can’t imagine why anyone would just be standing here out in the snow.”

“You’re out here.”

“I’m from Faerghus,” he reminds her. “The cold lets me pretend I’m still home, if only for a little while.”

She sighs. The cloud she makes is not insignificant. “You still think of Faerghus as home?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever considered going back?”

“I like it here too.”

That is an oddly specific non-answer. Byleth sighs again. She’s stalled long enough, so she admits, “I was just thinking of the times I danced in _The Nutcracker_.”

He tilts his head to the side.

“I started out as a toy soldier,” she continues, smiling despite herself. She remembers how her mother had gushed, snapping photo after photo of her in her costume. “Then I was Clara, like Flayn.” Sitri had passed before she was able to see Byleth dance on pointe. “After I moved to Remire, I was a snowflake for a couple years. I always loved their waltz. Then, when the principal retired, I got the part of Sugar Plum.”

“You must’ve been proud.”

She nods. “ I was. I… I was so happy, but then my father—” She stops talking, overwhelmed by memories and feelings and grief. Five years. Has it really been that long?

“Byleth?”

Crying does not come easily to her. Crying is not something she does often. Not during her mother’s funeral. Not during her father’s. She’d wondered if something in her broke back then, when she began shutting down until it seems as though she doesn’t have emotions anymore.

But as she feels her nose getting all clogged up and messy and she feels as though she is choking on something in her mouth and throat, she also feels as though she is being set free.

.

Her cheeks had been frozen last night, but now they burn as she remembers how he had held her as she cried, how safe and comforted she had felt in his arms. Bad enough that she burst into tears in front of him without explanation, but clinging on even after they had stopped…

_「I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t think Nutcracker would get me all emotional.」_

She sighs, not sure what else to say.

_「Don’t worry about it.」_

Prompt and to the point. She really hopes she hasn't made things awkward, but then she sees he is still typing.

_「I don't believe it's a sign of strength to deny your emotions to keep moving forward no matter what. There's strength in taking the time to stop and cry too. That's what I think, anyway.」_

Strength in taking the time to stop and cry… Byleth smiles to herself. Dance, by its very nature, is a very expressive form of art and yet, there is so much pressure on women to stand strong and not to be seen as weak in order to be taken seriously. How does one cope with these two contradictory expectations?

_「Thank you.」_

She is about to put down her phone so she could get dressed and begin her day when he sends another message.

_「Would you like to come over for dinner today? It is Christmas Eve after all.」_

.

Dimitri tells her not to worry about presents. He did spring this invitation on her very suddenly after all, but Byleth knows she cannot, in good conscience, show up at his doorstep empty-handed.

Not many stores are open Christmas Eve, but she manages to secure a pot of lovely poinsettias from the flower shop owned by a quiet, taciturn man from Duscur, tipping him extra as thanks for all his help. Combined with a bottle of wine she had been saving for a special occasion, she feels confident that she wouldn’t be an absolutely terrible houseguest when she shows up.

Following the directions on her phone to his apartment downtown, Byleth finds herself getting progressively more nervous as she waits outside for him to come downstairs to let her into the building.

His eyes light up when he sees the poinsettias in her arms. “You _really_ didn’t have to,” he says, but he still thanks her for it, admitting he didn’t do much by way of decorations himself.

He is not lying. His living space is very bare. The most notable thing about it is the baby grand piano that takes up the corner of the living room. Edelgard looks up and says hello from where she is putting the finishing touches on a rather impressive gingerbread house. It is strange to see her in such a casual setting when less than twenty-four hours ago, she had been in full-costume and making her final bows to the cheers and applause of a wonderstruck audience.

There are only the three of them. At first, Byleth worries she may be intruding on what should be time spent with family, but upon observing the stepsiblings for a time, she wonders if Dimitri had actually invited her to act as a buffer to the obvious tension between them. It is not to say they are openly hostile, no. They are cordial, but there is a clear distance between them.

By contrast, they are able to speak with Byleth just fine. The interest Edelgard expresses in her past and current career is genuine, leading to a rather pleasant conversation until the dreaded question inevitably arrives: “There is one thing I don’t understand. You clearly had a promising career, so why did you quit?”

She may have been equipped to answer Edelgard if it weren’t for last night, but her guard is still not fully back up so she finds herself freezing up and unable to remember the generic reply she had been giving out the last five years.

Thankfully, she is saved from needing to when Dimitri sets down the casserole between them with a little more force than necessary. “I don’t think that’s any of our business,” he says in a curt manner that is just shy of _cold_. “Byleth has her reasons. She does not need to explain herself to anyone.”

And then the atmosphere suddenly becomes less celebratory. Edelgard is clearly taken aback by this sudden display of protectiveness, and while Byleth appreciates him standing up for her, she has no desire to be another wedge driven into what is clearly a fragile relationship between estranged family members.

So she does the first thing that comes to mind: Talk about the food in front of her.

“That looks delicious,” she says. “Did you make it?”

His smile is still tight as he replies, “I did, though it is my first time. The recipe belongs to one of my friends in Faerghus, so I hope I did it justice.”

Nothing stops an incoming argument like empty bellies and full mouths. Whatever darkness that drove Dimitri to snap at his stepsister fades when Byleth beams upon taking her first bite and earnestly compliments his cooking.

All the while, Edelgard’s eyes dart between them, her expression belonging to a woman who is finally putting the pieces of a long-unsolved puzzle together.

.

“I’m sorry,” Edelgard says suddenly. “For Christmas Eve.”

Byleth blinks, confused.

“Dimitri is right to say it was not my place to ask.”

“Oh.” She tries to shrug it off. “I get asked that a lot, so don’t worry about it.”

Edelgard looks mollified somewhat. It is a little awkward, the two of them standing at the counter waiting for their drinks to be made. It is not a very busy day, only three days after Christmas, so there are not many orders before theirs, but then Edelgard breaks the tension with the most unexpected of openings, “I understand that in the past few months, you and Dimitri have become quite… close.”

Tears, snow and an embrace. “You could say that.”

“How much do you know about his past?”

She blinks again. “I… What?”

Chuckling softly, Edelgard removes the lid of her tea to blow on the liquid a few times before saying—in a voice that sounds more than a little resentful, “This technically isn’t my story to tell, but I did lose a mother that night, a _beloved_ mother, no matter what he may think about me.”

_Oh dear…_

“Dimitri, his father, and my mother were on a family vacation in Garreg Mach when he was about thirteen years old,” Edelgard says. There is a distant edge to her voice and expression as though she is recounting a story that is not related to her at all. “One night after attending a concert at Saint Seiros Theatre, they were involved in a traffic accident. Of the three of them, only Dimitri survived, if heavily injured.”

Byleth is speechless. Out of all the things to discover today…

“When I heard he actually _moved_ here…” Edelgard shakes her head in disbelief. “He’s obsessed with the past, clinging to the dead as though it will bring them back and refusing to move on.”

Byleth has no siblings, no extended family, so she cannot fully relate, but she supposes she could see how that may be the cause for their fractured relationship. In theory. “I… I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say…”

“You don’t need to,” Edelgard replies, rubbing a spot just beneath her left eye with the heel of her hand. “My mother—her name was Patricia—wasn’t married to Lambert Blaiddyd for long, so Dimitri and I only met a few times when I was visiting her. We got along alright when we were kids, but I said something rather… cruel to him during the funeral. I regret that now, but I still have no intention of standing still with him.”

 _Because there is no time for someone like me to stand still._ Byleth knows all too well. To be the best of the best in this world, everything else are just… distractions. _Even if it’s my own heart._

Edelgard sighs, and her expression becomes a little softer. The softest Byleth has ever seen when she says, “He always seems happier when he speaks of you or when he’s with you, so if you can somehow give him a reason to move forward, then I wish you well, but…”

“But?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt either. It’s easy to fall for that charm of his when you don’t know what’s going on beneath the surface.”

.

_There is a recurring dream she’s had for five long years. She is on stage in full costume, and though she cannot see the audience watching her from the darkness, every seat is full. She knows that much._

_The music that plays, the routine she dances changes with every iteration, but some smaller details—the stage where she stands, the audience she cannot see, and the fact that it is always,_ always _a pas de deux—are constant._

 _Tonight, it is the Act I pas de deux of_ The Nutcracker, _but what is strange about this iteration of this dream is that it continues into the_ Waltz of the Snowflakes _. Suddenly she is no longer alone on stage with her still-faceless partner, but performing among a shadow corps de ballet. She catches only glimpses of their faces, their identities, but she knows them, recognizes them. Her mother, healthy and vibrant as she once was. Director Rhea, carefree and belonging as she once did. Her old classmates. Her current students. Students of the academy, past and present._

_Around and above, flakes fall from the snow machines up above, but when the particles make contact with her bare skin, it is cold and sharp and biting in a way only real snow can be._

_And she thinks,_ Yes. This is how it should be. _She feels alive. Utterly so. This is why she decided to follow her mother’s footsteps. This is the sort of feeling that makes those hours of practice and pain worth it in the end._

 _As intoxicating as the scent of evergreen trees and the sound of soft singing in her ears may be, she nonetheless expects this dream to end the same way it always does—with her fall. However, when her partner once again takes her hand in his own, she turns her head around to face him as she leans back, she sees_ him _, the one who is dancing the part of the Nutcracker Prince to her Clara._

_Blond hair, blue eyes, and hands that belong not to a danseur, but a pianist._

.

“Edelgard just landed in Enbarr,” Dimitri says, tucking his phone back into his pocket. He sighs before lifting his mug to his lips. “We barely spoke to each other even as we lived under the same roof, but now that she’s gone, I think I’m going to miss her.”

Byleth can only nod along as she sips away at her own drink. A week ago, a month ago, she could have gotten away with continuing to deny her steadily growing feelings for him, but not after… not since…

 _That dream_ just had to go and ruin it.

As if that isn’t enough, she also has Edelgard’s revelations to contend with. What lies beneath the surface… hasn’t she already caught a glimpse of that on Christmas Eve? That anger towards his stepsister when she had asked a perfectly innocuous question… when the day before, he had seen Byleth crying over the very topic. After spending two evenings in the very theater where his last happy memory of his parents took place.

So she finds herself… watching him. A little more closely than usual.

“Everything okay with you two?” she asks. “Things seemed pretty tense on Christmas…”

He sighs. “It always has been like that,” he confesses, “I’d hoped that… Well, we’re not kids anymore, so I hoped that things could get better between us, but…”

_One trapped in the past and the other stubbornly marching forward._

“It’s not too late,” she says.

.

_It’s not too late._

When she returns home, Byleth takes a chair into her bedroom in order to reach the top shelf of her closet.

Remire Ballet’s production of _The Nutcracker_ from five years ago. She is lucky the recording had been that of the opening night or else she may have begun to think the first and only grand pas de deux she had ever done had been some sweet dream she had as she sat by her father’s bedside in the hospital.

It should have been her big break. It _would_ have been her big break, if only—

Watching her younger self dance again, it is hard to say how her dancing back then compared to how it is now, _but—_

It is difficult to watch her younger self, seeing her so happy and carefree, oblivious to the fact that her father had been critically injured in a hit and run while on the way to watch her debut as a soloist.

That Byleth’s dancing is so _genuine_. Free. Her interpretation of the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy lacks the masterful perfection of Edelgard’s, but it is the dancing of someone who loved what she did, truly and honestly.

…Whatever in the world happened to that Byleth?

.

She is ready to move on from _The Nutcracker_. She is _eager_ to move on from _The Nutcracker_.

Classes resume the first week of January; her students chatter happily away with each other about their holidays. Flayn actually hugs Byleth and tells her how much she missed her classes, catching her by surprise, but it is welcome, this open display of affection and trust.

Byleth is eager for the return to routine, but when class is set to begin on the hour, Dimitri is still nowhere in sight. As far as she is aware, he is still her accompanist, and if there is to be a substitute for today, surely he or she would have arrived by now? Uncertain with what may have occurred to cause this slip on punctuality, Byleth decides to act as though nothing is wrong and begins with the usual stretches and warm-up techniques while allowing each of her students to say a little something about how they spent their break if they desired.

Eight minutes into class, Dimitri slips into the studio as quietly as possible. He makes eye contact with her when he enters and mouths an apology before settling down at the piano. Seeing him there causes her to release a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding until now.

Things resume as normal. Byleth stops the lessons early to speak a little of the showcase performance at the end of term and answer questions about it, if any. It is not a formal production like _The Nutcracker_ , she assures them, it’s more of an opportunity to show off how much they have learned.

The announcement piques more curiosity and anticipation than anxiety, but she knows at least one or two of her students have strict parents with high demands and expectations. Those worry her the most. Those _anger_ her the most. Parents who treat their children like pets rather than people… Byleth wants her students to dance for themselves, to feel good about themselves, not for the sake of meeting the standards set by their parents.

Especially if they fail to reach those standards because of her own lack of experience as a teacher. This performance will be a showcase of her own growth as much as it is theirs.

.

“I’m so sorry about today. I hope I haven’t caused you any trouble.”

Byleth shakes her head. “No need,” she says, “We all have our off days.”

He rubs the bridge of his nose with one hand as he gathers up his sheet music. Now that she is closer, she can see the bags under his eyes. How tired he seems to be.

“It won’t happen again,” Dimitri says.

 _Don’t make promises you cannot keep,_ she wants to reply, but she just nods. “You want to get some coffee?”

“I…” He sighs. “Sorry, I can’t. Not today.”

She tries not to let her disappointment show. “Okay then. See you tomorrow?”

“Yes. Tomorrow.”

.

Dimitri does not appear tomorrow. Two minutes before class, Holst Goneril walks in with his book of Garreg Mach Ballet’s repertoire—a book Dimitri also has a copy of—as well as newly printed pages of the song she chose to accompany the choreography for the year’s end production.

Byleth actually stops talking to Flayn mid-sentence to ask, “Where’s Dimitri?”

“Called in sick,” is Holst’s reply. “I owed him a favor, so I didn’t ask too much.”

She looks down at her phone. No missed messages. _Why though?_ she wonders, but does not have much time to do much else.

As Holst settles down before the piano, Flayn chips in innocently, “I hope Mr. Blaiddyd feels better soon. You’re really worried about him, aren’t you Miss Eisner?”

.

‘Really worried’ does not even begin to cover it. She lets it go the first day, but when he fails to show up again the day after and receives the same answer from his replacement for that day, Byleth delays the start of class by a half-minute to send him a message.

_「Are you okay?」_

She pauses, thinks, and delays for another half to add, _「I’m not mad. I’m just worried about you.」_

It’s not that she has a problem with Holst or any of the other accompanists that’s been substituting in the meantime. It just isn’t the _same_ without him. But no matter how much her heart aches, Byleth has a job to do, so she puts her phone away and declares that class has begun.

.

Saturday comes. For the third time, Dimitri does not show. Neither has he answered any of her messages in the meantime. Scrolling through their chat history, Byleth makes up her mind. She is finished with her morning classes today, so she decides to skip taking advantage of the empty studio to practice her dancing to instead make her way to Dimitri’s apartment building. She walks by the flower shop where she purchased the poinsettias and considers for only a second before entering and leaving with a bouquet of lilies.

It is only when she arrives at the front door and is left waiting after buzzing Dimitri’s apartment number that she begins having second thoughts about her gift. _Flowers for a funeral._ Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all…

But she is spared the need to reconsider turning back when someone, another resident most likely, opens the front door to leave the building. Byleth sees her chance and slips into the building, knowing she may not have another.

She takes the elevator up, counting the seconds until she reaches his floor. From there, she finds her way to his door, counting apartment numbers until she finds herself standing before the right one. She takes a deep breath and, holding the lilies in one arm, knocks.

No answer.

Byleth takes in a deep breath through her nose and tries again.

Nothing.

She takes out her phone, typing in a message that is riddled with typos but is meant to say, _「Sorry for dropping by unannounced, but I was worried」_ Once it is sent, she tries again, but to no avail.

Desperate, she calls his number and this time, when she is directed to his voicemail, she leaves a message. “Please let me in, Dimitri,” she says and somewhere in her mind, notes how much she sounds like a lost little girl. “I’m… I miss you so much.”

She gives it a minute. Then two, three, four… Byleth is about to lose hope and leave him be when she finally hears the sound of a bolt being unlatched like a revitalized heartbeat.

He looks _awful_. All disheveled hair, rumpled clothing, and shadowed eyes. He is still wearing the shirt and pants from when she saw him last. When was the last time he _ate_?

Nonetheless, Byleth is so relieved that she throws his arms around him, holding tight as though she is afraid that he will close the door again if she lets go.

.

To her relief, he allows her to come in. He takes a few minutes in the bathroom to clean himself up, leaving her free to look around the living space on her own. Not much has changed since her last visit. Many of the items she had assumed to have been Edelgard’s are gone, but the poinsettias she gifted him are sitting on a nearby shelf. Byleth gently touches a scarlet petal. It looks as though it has been well cared for since its arrival.

Next, her eyes drift towards his piano. She sees the sheet music still displayed on the stand and she cannot stop herself from feeling a twinge of guilt when she realizes it is one she had chosen for the showcase. Byleth places a hand on the lid, gently tracing the delicate engravings of eagles and flowers. It must be a Zoltan model…

“It used to be my stepmother’s.”

Dimitri’s voice makes her start, barely registering the sound of him turning a tap on the kitchen sink to fill an empty pitcher with water. He sounds so… tired. Like he doesn’t even have the energy to look at her.

“I offered to let Edelgard have it if she wished, but she said it’s better kept here where it’s being used instead of gathering dust in Adrestia.”

Byleth almost snorts. “That sounds like something she’d say.”

He makes an uncommitted _un_ sound as he places the pitcher on the counter. “I don’t have a proper vase, but they should fit in here.”

Wordlessly, Byleth takes the bouquet from its plastic wrap, untying the ribbons that holds it all together and places them in the pitcher as he instructed.

For a time, they just stand there, avoiding each other’s gazes, uncertain as to how to proceed. Byleth silently counts to three before looking up and saying, “Edelgard told me about your parents.”

She watches him slowly close his eyes as his brows furrow in distress. “So she has.”

“It doesn’t change anything,” she says, desperate to reassure him that she does not look down on him for… whatever darkness Edelgard was referring to in her well-intentioned, but nonetheless misguided attempt to protect Byleth from her stepbrother. “It happened to me too. My father was killed in a hit-and-run. I wasn’t there, but I… I didn’t take it well. I can’t even begin to imagine how it was for you.”

A spark of life returns to those dull eyes. “Thank you,” he says softly. “How much did Edelgard tell you about… everything?”

She tells him, leaving out only the statement about “falling for his charm.” When she reaches the part about Edelgard saying something cruel to him during the funeral, Dimitri sighs and rubs his right eye.

“The cruel thing Edelgard said to me during the funeral,” Dimitri says listlessly, “Was that she wished I was the one who died instead of Patricia.”

Byleth winces, horrorstruck. “That’s awful. Even if she was a kid at the time… That’s just awful.”

“It was,” he agrees in a way that can only be described as completely, utterly apathetic. “But it’s all water under the bridge now. Looking back, she was likely suffering ever more than I was. You have to understand, her parents had a very… messy divorce, and she had to witness the whole thing. They didn’t even try to keep things civil for her sake, from what little I know. Her father fought for full custody, and he had the money to hire the best lawyers in Adrestia to win it for him. Edelgard had no choice but to stay with a parent who only saw her as a means to hurt his wife, while I… I guess it wouldn’t be incorrect to say that, in a way, I stole her mother from her.”

“That doesn’t mean the hurt you felt back then didn’t matter,” Byleth finds herself arguing. Her heart goes out to Edelgard, it really does. Having had two parents who loved and supported each other as much as they loved and supported her, Byleth cannot even begin to imagine how awful that divorce must have been to watch unfold. And when Patricia died… Edelgard had only redirected all her anger and grief onto the wrong person just so she can have someone to _blame_.

Logically, she understands it. She’s _done_ it. Just because a coping mechanism is unfair and unhealthy doesn’t make it any less of a coping mechanism, but Byleth cannot deny the indignation she feels for Dimitri’s sake. “It wasn’t your fault things turned out that way.” _It wasn’t even his fault that Patricia died the way she did._ “You were a _child._ ”

As she says this, a strange feeling settles within her. It’s not Dimitri’s fault his stepmother’s first marriage ended so terribly. It’s not his fault his parents died the way they did. It’s not…

It’s not Byleth’s fault her father died when and how he did. Jeralt had been in his car and on the street that night because he wanted to be there for her on such a big night. To blame herself for his death—to _keep_ blaming herself for his death—would be a denial of how much he loved and cared about her.

The revelation hits her like a freight train. Dimitri notices her reaction. “Are you alright?”

His question almost makes her laugh. He is the one who had hit rock bottom and yet, he is asking after her. “Yes, I’m fine. I just…” She’s rambling, oh no. “I just remembered something, but it’s nothing. Please continue.”

Dimitri makes an uncommitted noise that may or may not have been in agreement. “There’s not much else to say. I was wondering why Edelgard suddenly apologized when I took her to the airport, but I guess living together for a few months just brought those memories rushing back.” He snorts, and says bitterly, “She's not one to dwell on the past. I guess that is part of the reason why she is so successful.”

What he does not say: _Not like me._ Hadn’t Byleth also once looked at Edelgard and thought the same? Combined with her earlier realization, she wonders if she is holding herself back. But she just as quickly pushes those thoughts aside. She would have time for self-reflection later, but for now, Dimitri.

“Is… Is that why you… You were…” She doesn’t know how to describe it.

He catches on immediately. “No,” he says. “Not… really. It was a relapse, yes, but not about that.”

She only nods once to show she is following along.

“I was crossing the street and heard… a car. Tires skidding on the road and it just…” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “It just came rushing back.”

“Post-Traumatic Stress,” she states the obvious.

“Yes. I used to see a therapist as a child, but trauma like that never really goes away.”

 _That’s the thing about trauma of any kind._ It never really does. Byleth takes his hand and begins to rub circles on his knuckles with her thumb. _A pianist’s hand, not a dancer’s._ He pays this almost no mind as he continues, “While I was lying there in the wreckage that night… All I could think about was the concert. I don’t even remember who was performing or what, just that the memory of that music was what kept me alive.” Dimitri snorts. “Ever since, my every step has been haunted by a ghost orchestra.”

“Even now?”

“Medication helps.”

“Have you had any today?”

He shakes his head.

Byleth sighs. “Is it safe for you to take it now?”

He pauses, thinking, before nodding yes.

.

She shakes a pill onto her palm and watches as he takes it with a glass of water. Byleth has read the instructions on the prescription bottle carefully multiple times while trying not to dwell too much on the nature of its effects. She tucks it away into the bathroom cabinet when he is done.

When she returns, she finds him sitting at his piano, pressing keys, one at a time as though teaching his hands and fingers how to play again. _A ghost orchestra,_ he’d said. She wonders if it is like her recurring dream.

On a whim, Byleth slides onto the bench next to him and together they sit there for a while in a comfortable silence except for the occasional note he plays, seemingly at random.

_But then—_

Reaching across her lap, Dimitri hovers his right hand over her own. “May I?”

Not quite sure what he is after, Byleth nevertheless nods wordlessly, and he gently takes both her wrists and places her hands and fingers above the ivory surface of the piano keys.

“ _Waltz of the Snowflakes_ ,” he says, “begins like this.”

.

She makes him dinner before leaving, taking care to make a big enough serving so he has no choice but to put part of it away as leftovers for tomorrow. It _is_ a little bit manipulative on her part, she will admit, knowing he will be more likely to eat it knowing it is something _she_ had gone through the time and effort to prepare for him, but she wants to make sure he will take care of himself in her absence.

Sunday morning, she wakes to find _「The soup was delicious. Thank you.」_ on her lockscreen. She sighs in relief, knowing she can proceed with her day with her mind at ease.

Dimitri is back at the Academy on Monday. He still doesn’t seem to be back at a hundred percent, but she can tell he is trying.

She continues to keep an eye—and an ear—out for him for the remainder of the week. By the time Thursday arrives again, he is looking much better, and when Flayn says she is glad to see him again, the smile and thanks he gives her are genuine.

Thursday night’s class ends and they linger a bit as they usually do. When the last student leaves, Dimitri says, “I would like to thank you again for what you did for me.”

Byleth wants to smile, to tease, to pretend everything is back to normal, but it doesn’t feel appropriate. “I’m only returning the favor,” she says. “How are you feeling today?”

He hesitates, and she catches the glimpse of his struggle between being honest with her and not wanting to show vulnerability. “Better,” he decides at last. “It doesn’t just go away, you know.”

“I know.”

“I… I hope what you saw last week didn’t color your view of me, but I understand if that can't be helped.”

She tilts her head to the side and brings a closed fist up to her cheek. “It doesn’t.”

Dimitri lifts his head. She could see the astonishment in his eyes. “It… doesn’t? How?”

Byleth weighs the option of telling him the whole story behind her brief spell as the Sugar Plum Fairy against not doing so. The former wins out.

“Do you remember me telling you about the time I danced the part of Sugar Plum?”

.

_It was back in Remire. The ballet culture there is nothing like Garreg Mach’s. I only had the part for one night because I had to pull out to stay with my father in the hospital. My understudy had to take over for the rest of the performance. I sat out the following season to work through my grief, but by the time I returned, nobody seemed to want me as anything higher than a corps dancer. I didn’t mind so much at first, but after an audition for Sleeping Beauty, I overheard the director saying he would have considered me for the role of Aurora, but he didn’t have the time to deal with a soloist who was… “emotionally unreliable.”_

Dance, by its very nature, is a very expressive form of art and yet, there is so much pressure on women to stand strong and not to be seen as weak in order to be taken seriously. How does one cope with these two contradictory expectations?

She is the last person who would judge another based solely on what they were like at their lowest.

.

There is undeniably a shift in their relationship afterwards. When two people have opened up to each other as they have, it is impossible to not establish a sense of emotional intimacy as the dust settles. It’s easier now, to be open and honest with someone who knows what hides in the darkest crevices of your heart and yet stays by your side despite all that.

For the rest of the school year, class continues as normal with almost the entire month dedicated to practicing for the showcase. When the scheduled night comes, the theatre is not as packed as it had been for _The Nutcracker,_ but Dimitri is once again present. He had stubbornly insisted on it, reminding her that he had been watching her students’ growth throughout the year as well.

Byleth is proud too— _so_ proud—but beneath that pride she feels anxiety is stirring deep within. She is at a crossroads now. Soon, there is another course-altering decision she has to make.

She already knows what she wants, what she _truly_ wants, but choosing that path at this point won’t be easy.

.

The first step is always the most difficult. Byleth takes a deep breath before she takes it.

For someone so famous and influential in the world of ballet, there is surprisingly very little in her office as far as memorabilia goes. The only thing Byelth could call personal is a single framed photo on the desk: four young women with green-tinted hair each wearing the costume and headpieces of a cygnet. Byleth immediately recognizes the two in the middle as Rhea and Sitri. If Byleth is remembering the corresponding entry in her mother’s journals correctly, the role of the Swan Queen should have been Rhea’s that year, if only she had not been betrayed by someone she had thought was her friend.

“Well?” Rhea’s soft, but authoritative voice pulls her gaze away. “What did you wish to talk about? If it’s about your evaluation, I can assure you there’s nothing to worry about.”

Byleth shakes her head. She had been thinking and worrying about her evaluation, but that is not the reason why she’d wanted to talk to Rhea. “I’ve been thinking about dancing again.”

It’s impossible to miss the way the director’s eyes light up. “Is that so?”

She nods. “The problem is, I have been out of touch with many of my old contacts in the past few years. I don’t even know where to begin, so I was wondering if you had any advice.”

The office falls silent for a very long time. Rhea is not stupid. Surely she had noticed the wall Byleth had taken care to build between them. She takes the picture of her and Sitri and the two other cygnets, gazing at it with so much pain and longing that Byleth feels a stab to her heart in sympathy. “It is a very precious thing, the gift of dance,” she says, sounding a world away. “Sitri wanted nothing more than to share it with you. I realize now it may not have been fair to you, but I wanted to honor that wish.”

Byleth recalls her resentment when she realized Rhea may have only given her the job because of her lingering attachment to Sitri. It may or may not be true, but even if she did, Byleth knows she never would have met those she had through this position. Her students, Flayn, Dimitri… _Especially_ Dimitri.

So for him, _because_ of him, it is well past the time to let that resentment go.

“I forgive you. And I thank you for giving me the chance to share that gift with my students.”

Rhea looks away, but not before Byleth is able to see the glistening of tears. It takes her a little while to calm herself to speak, and when she does, neither of them draw attention to it.

“The most obvious place to begin again is the adult classes,” Rhea says with only the slightest of wavers in her voice. “Registration for the summer programs end in two days, so you better hurry. And I can contact some companies on your behalf. Anything that comes after will be up to you. Is that permissible?”

“That would be wonderful.”

“Do you have an audition video I can forward to them?”

Byleth shakes her head.

“Studio C upstairs won’t be used until three o’clock today. Seteth can show you where we keep the recording equipment.”

There is a smile to Rhea’s face. An expression that, for once, is devoid of the loneliness that clings to her like a robe of feathers. “This is the last thing I can do for you—and for her. Byleth Eisner, I wish you all the best.”

:.

:.

:.

Opening nights are magic. The sublime knowledge of how hours and hours of rehearsal have been leading to this moment. Closing nights are bittersweet. The sense of accomplishment contrasted with the knowledge that the show has ended.

Not today, however. At least, not for her.

Byleth is still light-headed and breathless when she steps out into the main lobby where she is greeted with a bouquet of lilies and a quick kiss against her cheek.

“You—” Dimitri says, “—were amazing.”

“You said that yesterday night too,” she teases even as she dips her nose into the petals to inhale their scent, gazing up at him through her lashes. She was handed a bouquet of flowers once every night for the past few nights during the curtain call, but this is the one that brings a true smile to her face. “Have you finally run out of compliments to give me?”

“Perhaps I have.” She does not miss the way his eyes twinkle despite his serious expression. “There are no other words that suffice, I’m afraid.”

She throws her head back and laughs. Three years dancing as part of the corps again and finally she has managed to land a solo role with the Faerghus Royal Ballet. _Byleth Eisner as Princess Aurora at last._

The Fhirdiad Orpheum is where her parents met, where their romance began. Her father had been working as a security guard the day he happened to run into a ballerina on her way to the dressing rooms. She supposes it is the past that first lured her here as it once made her return to Garreg Mach, but she has no memories of Fhirdiad and Faerghus of her own, making it easier to build her own life here than she would have thought.

“Ready to celebrate?” he asks.

“Always am,” she replies.

Arm in arm, they leave the venue. At once, the stark difference of the temperatures between inside and outside is striking. It may be spring, but the Fhirdiad chill manages to find ways to make it snow quite often regardless. Even in her faux fur-lined jacket and wool scarf, Byleth shivers. Two years of living in Faerghus and she still has yet to grow fully accustomed to such things.

In the middle of the plaza, Dimitri comes to a stop and closes his eyes as he tilts his head back. Like her, he is wearing a coat over his suit as a guard against the cold he must know so well, but as the snow continues to fall upon his face, he looks so… at peace. He breathes deep, a long inhale of cold clean air through his nose before letting it go with whatever inhibitions were holding him back.

“Byleth.” He says her name with a gravity she has never heard before as he very carefully slips his arm free. “There is something I want to ask you.”

She tilts her head curiously, watching as he takes a step back and then another. He reaches into his coat and takes something out of its inside pocket. She catches only a glimpse of what it is he is holding before he lowers himself onto one knee and all rational thought escapes her entirely.

“Five years ago, I made the decision to move to the city of Garreg Mach in a misplaced quest for closure. I did not find what I was looking for. Instead, I found you,” he says in a voice clear and ringing in the cold thin air. “With you, I realized I had it in me all along. In you, I found a reason to move on into the future and I...” He holds up the item in his hand and there, a ring nestled in black velvet. “I cannot imagine a future of mine without you by my side, so Byleth Eisner, I ask you: will you marry me?”

Is this really happening? Moisture prickles the corner of her eyes. Her answer is obvious, automatic, for how else would she reply? But she needed a moment to catch herself from the flurry of emotion that catches her unawares.

And in that moment, Dimitri’s nerves start to get the better of him. “Please… I beg of you. say something. I understand that this is all very… sudden, so if you are not ready to take this step, please, just tell me—”

“Yes!”

He does a double take. “You will?”

Lilies, freshly cut and falling loose, tumble onto the snow beneath, and she takes his hands in both her own. “Yes, Dimitri. A thousand times, _yes_. I will marry you!”

“I…” He breaks into a wide smile and oh… are those tears in his eyes as well? “I—No. Thank you, Byleth. _Thank you._ ”

What is there to thank? The ring fits snug on her finger, like it always belonged. Byleth cups his face in her hands when he stands, pressing their foreheads together as they stand, reveling in this joyous moment as the dancing snow.

Crying does not come easily to her. Crying is not something she does often, but she cries now—in _joy_ because she feels, _knows_ , that she is awake at last.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I have participated in a big bang event so I thank the mods of the Three Houses AU Bang (@FE3HAUBang) for hosting the event and to my partner Moira (@nymphlings) for the great experience! Additionally, I would like to express my gratitude to my friends and betas Liv, Phoenix, and Raye for their constant support and giving me feedback throughout the writing process. Thank you all so much!
> 
> As you have likely already guessed, _The Nutcracker_ was the original inspiration for this AU, especially the [Royal Ballet’s 2012 performance of the _Waltz of the Snowflakes_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UYaIQNjAX_8), was a huge inspiration for this AU. It was originally an actual retelling with Dimitri as the title character and Byleth as Clara/Marie, but after watching a few performances in YouTube and getting nostalgic (as I used to take ballet lessons myself), I decided to go with a Modern/Ballet AU instead.


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